


Olympic Tryouts (part 29)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [29]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 23:05:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2791016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>summary: Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 29)

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday taylor swift! to celebrate this wonderful day, here is more of these idiot hockey players because apparently i have all the time in the world now to write about their ridiculous romance. thank you to everyone who supports me and this silliness, i want to squeeze you all so hard that all your stuffing comes out.

Santana wakes up before the alarm the next morning and just watches Brittany, fast asleep. She finds herself transfixed by the shine of Brittany’s goldenrod hair as the morning sun creeps through the crack in the blinds and strikes the crown of her head at just the right angle. She studies Brittany’s eyelashes, and how they curl up at the ends and the hairs are so fine and light they look barely there at all. She counts the freckles that pepper the bridge of her nose, cascading out under her eyes and bleeding into smooth, milky skin. She counts the cadence between breaths, how many beats before the air pulled in is expelled right back out, the ions of gas from collected from every corner of her body escaping from the confines of her bloodstream and propelled back into the air of the room.

She thinks of the law of conservation of energy. That nothing can be created nor destroyed, but simply changes form. How this feeling she has every single time she looks at Brittany, every time she hears her voice or smells her shampoo, this innate brightness, had to have come from something else. Santana thinks of her grandmother. _Santanita, to truly understand something you must look at its roots. You must learn how it was born._ That something must have taken root deep within her soul at one definitive moment in time and grown and transformed within her own cells, sprouting into newness. Into bliss. Because as she watches Brittany at her most vulnerable, while she’s somewhere off in dreamland, Santana imagines how this thing came to be. How what she thought was once hate and deep-rooted despise is actually something entirely the opposite.

As if Brittany can hear the cogs in Santana’s brain churning, she begins to stir. As her eyelids crack open, she smiles, looking at Santana like there’s nothing else in the whole world.

“Mornin, Teaspoon,” Brittany mumbles, the sounds catching and sticking along her throat like wood dragged along coarse sandpaper. God, she loves Brittany’s voice in the morning.

“Good morning, Britt-Britt.”

“What are you thinking about?” She presses a kiss to the underside of Santana’s chin. “I can tell you’re in it.”

“Physics. And things growing.”

“Hm. That’s pretty deep for six a.m.” She pauses, her brow crinkling just slightly as she stretches her arms out high above her head like a content and well-rested cat. “Did I miss the alarm?” And as if the phone could hear, the marimba tone chimes to rouse them.

“You didn’t miss anything.” And Santana kisses her.

_____

Coach is riding them extra hard that morning at practice. He shouts at Brittany that she’s not splitting the double team properly on the defensive end of their man-down situation and Brittany’s frustration is churning and palpable like a storm from across the ice. Santana can’t decide if Coach is being extra hard on them because of their current personal circumstances, or if he’s just being his normal nitpicky self, wanting them to learn and get it right the next time. _Just do your job. Learn from your mistakes and don’t make them again._

When she finally manages to skate up to Brittany while another line is running through the drill, she suggests they try the little two-man play they drew up the night before. Maybe if they can score Coach will take his foot off the gas a bit. “Let’s run it. But we gotta get it right on the first try otherwise the defense will figure it out. Ready?” Santana asks, smacking her stick against Brittany’s leg pads and knocking their helmets together.

“Ready.”

“Good.”

As the defense sets and Coach Taylor initiates the play with a whistle, Santana nods to Brittany before flicking the puck hard along the side boards so it pings around the goal into the far corner. Brittany is skating full tilt to beat Tina, who is defending the play, to the corner. She picks up the puck, carries it behind the net and fakes a pass to Rachel who is cutting in front of the net. Circling around the front of the goal, she makes an exaggerated move to shoot but instead flicks a no-look pass backwards to Santana who is just a stick-length behind and skating on Brittany’s heels. The puck lands perfectly on the tape of her stick and she buries it past Mercedes and into the top right side of the net.

Playing with Brittany is as easy as breathing.

_____

By the time Brittany and Santana finally leave the ice after staying late for their normal extra shooting practice, the locker room is deserted. They are quiet as they each sit and untie their skates, peeling off the tape keeping their socks in place and stealing glances every so often at each other just because.

Santana finds herself transfixed as Brittany grabs the bottom hem of her practice jersey and lifts it effortlessly over her head. She keeps staring as Brittany pulls off each pad, one by one, always in the same order and exactly the reverse of how she put them on. Brittany watches Santana stare and tries in vain to hide her stupid goofy Santana-smile.

“Watcha doin’?” Brittany asks.

“Just watching you, pretty girl.”

“Well,” she starts, padding forward a few steps closer. “How about-” she reaches and tugs off Santana’s right elbow pad, then the left, “you and I,” and there go the shoulder pads, “hit the showers?”

“You _are_ pretty smelly,” Santana breathes, her skin tingling in the best way where Brittany’s fingers graze silky-soft, slipping under her suspenders and pushing the straps off each shoulder, her pants falling freely to the ground. She grabs Brittany’s offered hand for balance as she steps out of the pads and returns the favor, stripping Brittany slowly. When they’re only in their spandex shorts and sports bras, Brittany links their pinkies and pulls her towards the showers, Santana’s heart beating louder and louder with every step.

_____

Brittany has her pressed up against the tile and three fingers deep inside of her when there is a terrified scream that radiates around the room. Brittany springs back in shock and Santana slips, tumbling to the shower floor and cracking her head on the tile.

“OH MY. I-”

“Jesus Christ, Rachel!” Brittany shouts, cutting the water and lurching for the towels, quickly wrapping herself up before throwing a towel over Santana who is still lying prostrate on the shower floor and using both hands to cover her beet red face.

“I… I… oh dear me,” Rachel squeaks, her eyes the size of saucers as she stares at them, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Go wait for us by the lockers, if you would, Rach,” Brittany begs, bending down to check on Santana.

When Rachel finally scurries away, Brittany brushes the matted hair off Santana’s forehead and asks in the most delicate and concerned way if she’s okay.

“I’m fine, just whacked my head a bit. Thanks for dropping me, by the way,” Santana grumbles, allowing Brittany to pull her to her feet. “I thought you said you locked the door?”

“I did not! And don’t you go making up lies, missy. I said I didn’t _think_ anyone else was here, how was I supposed to know there were trolls lurking?”

“Well, whatever, let’s go do damage control. And no more sex in the locker room showers, I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night or the whole freaking campus is deserted.”

“But-”

“No buts, Britt. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be watching the Olympics from your dad’s couch, and neither do I.”

But when they make it out to their lockers, Rachel is nowhere to be found.

“Well, shit. Looks like Quinn will get that twenty bucks after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> i accidentally forgot to post part 29 here on AO3 so i am so sorry if you read part 30 before this one! major fail.


End file.
